


Finding Hope in Avalon Heights

by HidingintheInkwell



Category: Merlin (TV), iZombie (TV)
Genre: Max Rager Yacht party, Other, Zombie!Arthur, Zombie!Camelot Crew, big reveals, iZombie!Verse, lonely!Arthur, terrible secret identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingintheInkwell/pseuds/HidingintheInkwell
Summary: Gotta admit, might have screamed a little bit when I found out Bradley James was in iZombie, might have cried a bit at what happened to him, but it spawned this creation and my brain wouldn't let it go so... here it is!Basically Zombie!Arthur is trying to cope with the new world and his new status as a zombie, and some friends tell him about this safe place he can go get food that is run by a man named Emrys. See where it's going?! ;p Anyway hope y'all enjoy!!





	Finding Hope in Avalon Heights

Arthur wrapped his hands tighter around the mug of tea, feeling the warmth soak into his chilled skin. Latey it felt like he was always cold, like it had sunk its sharp teeth into his bones. If he closed his eyes, sometimes, he could swear he could feel the warmth of the sun as it glinted off swords and shields, the familiar weight of his mail and armor pressing into him as he trained with Leon; Merlin and Gwaine sitting off to the side, the former darning a pair of pants Arthur had managed to rip the other day while he joked with the shaggy haired former rogue. The memories always left a hollowed ache in Arthur’s chest. Sometimes it felt as though a lifetime had passed since Camelot, and in a way he guessed it had, but at the same time, it felt like a little over a year since he’d been striding into his final battle, the world going dark around a pair of terror filled blue eyes, only for him to wake up on a beach a thousand lifetimes away from where he’d been. 

He’d tried to adapt to the strange new world he was now a part of, to let the past go and accept that everyone he’d known was long gone, that somehow the universe had decided he should come back, but in a fit of cruel irony, leaving him alone. He’d decided to take a few classes at a local university, had taught himself to play guitar to pass the time, and had met a girl with skin the color of cream, lips as dark as ripe fruit, and hair that curled gently against her round face and caught the light like a halo. Sophie had been beautiful and captivating, and Arthur had found himself pursuing her, following some urge he had no control over. She’d welcomed his advances, letting him chase her all the way to a tiny wet corner of the world in what he’d learned was known as the United States. She’d found his confusion about “modern things” adorable, often poking fun and asking if he’d been born in the stone ages. The only response that he’d been able to give is that he was from somewhere very different. 

They’d spent two months together in Seattle before she’d decided she wanted something else, and left him. Abandoned once again in a strange place, he’d managed to find himself a job and a small apartment with someone looking for a roommate. Lukas had become a fast friend. With olive toned skin and a head full of wild, dark curls, he reminded Arthur so much of Lancelot that sometimes it ached. Arthur had made it a personal mission not to get drunk around the man after the first time it had happened. It had been a couple months after Arthur had moved in, they were celebrating something or the other and had managed to get completely pissed on cheap beer. Lukas told him the next day while they both nursed hangovers that Arthur had started rambling about Knights and kingdoms, and had started calling him Lancelot and asked about someone named Gwen. Arthur had been left stumbling over his own words trying to pass it off as drunken ramblings and people he’d known in a medieval literature class back at Uni. Lukas hadn’t looked convinced, but he hadn’t pried. A week later, he’d dragged Arthur along to a yacht party some local bigwig was sponsoring.

Arthur clutched his mug a little tighter, hearing the ceramic creak threateningly under his fingers until he took a breath and eased up a bit. He didn’t remember a lot of what happened at the party, just that a fight had broken out, someone had clawed at his arm in an attempt to get away from the fire that had started elsewhere on deck, and he’d gone into the water. He’d woken up on the beach several miles away coughing up water and absolutely starving. His first meal had been the brains of some poor preppy girl who reeked of alcohol even over the stench of seaweed and ocean water. Half her skull had been missing, likely she’d hit it on the side of the boat, her blood and brain matter spilling out and matting her bleach blonde hair and the sight had turned his vision red and made his blood burn. Only later, when he’d calmed down and returned to his senses did he realize what he’d done. What he’d become. 

He’d cleaned himself up best he could, tracking his way back to the apartment he and Lukas shared and turning on the telly to the local news station in an attempt to figure out what had happened. No one had any straight answers, and search and rescue were still searching for survivors, so Arthur had gone online to do a bit of research and wait for his friend to return. That had been seven months ago, and Lukas had yet to return. His name appeared on a list of the missing/suspected deceased, and with no remaining family Arthur had been forced to pack away his things and rent out his side of the apartment. He’d been unable to get rid of any of it, though, on the off chance that the curly haired man would come striding back in one day, easy smile on his face and a story ready of where he’d been. Instead Arthur had rented out a small storage unit to put the boxes in, the apartment already too small with no room to keep it there. 

“You look like shit, Artie,” a familiar voice said, pulling him from his memories. A pretty girl with long dark curls pulled back from her pale face had slid into the seat across from him. Morgan Fray was the second friend he’d made after moving to Seattle. She’d been on the yacht with him and Lukas and had been one of the lucky ones to survive the ordeal, though not unchanged. She’d been pale even before the change, her hair the color of spilled ink and falling in waves down her back. Arthur could swear more often than not that she was Morgana’s twin, the two looked so similar, even down to her eyes; so pale they were nearly grey but had a way of glinting with secrets, just like his half sister. He managed a smile. “Thanks, Morgan. That makes me feel so much better.” 

Morgan just offered him a smile, waving at a passing server to give her order before turning back to Arthur, smile slipping and brow furrowing in worry. “I’m serious, Arthur. When was the last time you ate?” Arthur shrugged, pointedly ignoring the tight ball of hunger that had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe a week ago? It’s getting harder to find food, you know? Some of the Morgues have started employing security, and besides, I hate the way some of them fuck with my head. The last one I broke down and ate turned out to be a drug addict with a history of childhood prostitution.” Morgan winced in sympathy. Arthur had spent the time waiting for it to pass through his system alternating between shivering in the throes of withdrawal from a drug he’d never in any lifetime touched, and wanting to take a shower so hot his skin blistered as he felt the phantom touches of clammy hands ghosting across his skin, touching him in places he didn’t even anatomically have. 

Morgan’s drink arrived and the two sat in comfortable silence, sipping idly at their beverages. Arthur’s stomach was the first to break the silence, rumbling loudly in disagreement. Morgan shot him a look, reaching into her pocket and pulling out what appeared to be a business card. “Meet me here tomorrow, Artie. I know a place where it’s safe for people like us, where we can get what we need.” Arthur took the card and studied it.  _ Avalon Heights  _ was printed in curling script across the top, beneath it an address that he recognized as being in the nicer part of town. “It’s a zombie community,” Morgan explained, tapping at the address. “It’s gated for safety reasons, but anyone is welcome to live there as long as they are willing to be cohabitative. I’ve been a few times. It’s mostly populated by zombies, but there are humans there too; mostly family members or friends of people who’ve been turned. There’s a man there who goes by Emrys. He’s like the go-to guy to get ethically sourced and safe brains.” 

Arthur frowned, tucking the card into his pocket. “I don’t know, Morgan. Are you sure this guy is safe? All that sounds a little too good to be true, like some kind of trap they’ve set up to just wipe us all out in one go.” Morgan was shaking her head even before he finished speaking. “I know, I was skeptical too when Jenny first told me, but I swear it’s safe. It’s like it’s protected or something, like if you aren’t invited in, you can’t even see it. I swear I must have driven past it four times the first time before realizing the gate was right in front of me.” Arthur nodded slowly, finally conceding. If Jenny said it was safe, then it was safe. Morgan’s girlfriend, Jenny lived up to the origin of her name completely. If Morgan were Morgana’s doppelganger, then Jenny was Gwen’s. Same round face, same springy curls, same kind and gentle heart hiding the spirit of the fiercest warrior. Jenny had the compassion of a saint, especially for others of their condition, and if she said a place could be trusted, then it could be trusted. 

“Alright,” he said, taking one last swig of his tea. What time do you want me to meet you?” 

******************************************

Morgan had been right. Arthur had had to walk up and down the block in front of where the address was listed for nearly ten minutes before the gate made an appearance,  _ Avalon Heights  _ printed boldly on the placard next to it. It was a large, wrought iron gate that almost reminded him of the ones barring entrance to the castle grounds back in Camelot. The gate was mounted into a cobblestone wall that stretched off in either direction, climbing vines draping over it like a curtain, tiny buds poking through the foliage and catching the light of the street lamps, waiting for the weather to warm up just a little more before opening themselves to the sunshine. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt warm inside, like he was standing in front of somewhere familiar, like he was coming home, somehow. 

Morgan arrived fashionably late as usual, walking up to him hand in hand with Jenny, whom Arthur greeted with a hug and a friendly peck on the cheek. “Come on,” Morgan said, taking the lead and pushing against the gate. Arthur was a little surprised when it slid open smoothly and soundlessly, like it had just been waiting for them all along. The three stepped into the neighborhood, the gate swinging shut behind them just as quietly, and Morgan led them down the street past houses in varying degrees of fanciness. Three story houses with columns that he felt should be more referred to as mansions than houses stood side by side with modest single story cottages, like their owners had literally just picked up everything and moved to Avalon, planting their houses in whatever spot felt appropriate and continuing on with their lives. 

They passed homes lit warmly from the insides, shadows of their owners passing behind the curtains as they made dinner, settled down to watch telly, or tucked their kids into bed for the night. It was all so mundane that it was almost bizarre. A community of zombies going about their lives as though they were humans. He was so distracted that he practically bowled over the girls, who’d come to a stop in front of a modest two story house. “Why’d you stop?” he asked, glancing over at Morgan, who shot him a disbelieving look. “We’re here,” she told him.

“Here?”

“Emrys’ house, Arthur. We’re here.”

Arthur looked back up at the house, feeling more than a little underwhelmed. From what Morgan had told him about this Emrys, he was expecting to find himself in front of one of those mansions they’d passed, all columns and wrap-around porches and arching doorways. The building in front of him was the epitome of modest. An ordinary grey with white trim and shutters, there was a porch swing hanging from the awning and the front door was open, spilling light and the sound of voices and music out onto the manicured lawn. Really, the only thing to set the house apart from its neighbors was the flag hanging from the porch mounted pole. It wasn’t one of those American flags he commonly saw across the states, nor was it one of those cheesy seasonal ones, or one of those “Welcome to our home!” ones either. 

This one looked old, the bottom edge slightly worn and frayed, as though it had been dragged across the ground repeatedly. It was a deep shade of crimson with a golden dragon embroidered on it. As the flag caught a faint breeze that wafted past them, it billowed, gold glinting in the spotty light and bringing life to the two dimensional image, the fabric rippling, making it look as though the dragon’s great wings were shifting, like at any moment it would take flight. Something about it dredged up memories from the depths of Arthur’s mind, and for a minute he felt dizzy with it, the ground under him seemingly spinning. He shook his head to clear it and looked back at the flag. It was once again a heavy piece of fabric hanging from a wooden pole. Morgan was staring at it too, an awed sort of smile curling her lips. “That’s Emrys’ symbol. It sort of lets others know he’s home, lets them know where he is I guess. I don’t know. I tried asking him one time, but he got a funny look on his face and refused to answer.” 

Nodding, as if having just made a decision with herself, Morgan took his and Jenny’s hands and began pulling them up the front walk and toward the open door. The sound of voices and music got louder as they neared, and Arthur began to recognize the music as some weird combination of Celtic hymn, and Top 40. They stepped into a spacious entryway that opened directly into the living room and kitchen. People milled about, chatting idly or snacking on small plates of hors d'oeuvres and sandwich triangles. Still hanging onto his hand, Morgan pulled him through the loose crowd, nodding here and waving there as she spotted people she knew, but she didn’t bother stopping until she spotted two men talking near the stairwell. One was tall and build like a linebacker, his medium brown haircut crew and close to his head. He wore a hoodie with the sleeves torn off, displaying his impressive muscles, and yet despite his size, he looked anything but intimidating. Arthur was reminded of Percival, the mountain of a man with a heart of gold, and felt a nostalgic smile tug at his lips. 

The man he was talking to was much shorter, built slim with dark hair pulled back in a “man bun” at the back of his head, beard messy but trimmed, like the entire look had been done on purpose. As they neared, the man threw his head back and laughed aloud, drawing several fondly exasperated looks from those near him. That alone told Arthur that this was likely a regular occurrence. “Wayne! Val!” Morgan called, waving to get their attention, tugging needlessly on Arthur’s arm until he swore she’d rip it out of its socket. “Boys, this is Arthur. He’s here to see Emrys.” Something passed between the three of them, too quickly for Arthur to identify, and then Wayne was sticking out a hand. “Great to finally meet you, Arthur! Morgs and Jenny can’t seem to stop talking about you!” 

Arthur felt a blush warm his cheeks and quickly tamped it down, shaking first Wayne’s hand, then Val’s, their grips warm and firm and so familiar it hurt. “Nice to meet you both. So, do you gentlemen come here often?” For some reason this brought out another wave of guffaws from Wayne. “Come here often, he says! Why that’s the worst pickup line I’ve heard this week! And that’s saying something right there, mate!” He finally calmed down after a long moment, wiping invisible tears from his eyes before smoothing out his features into a cocky grin. “Nah, mate,” he said, slapping Val on the back. “We live here. We work a bit like errand boys for ‘ol Emrys. Meet his suppliers, work with they coyotes, stuff like that.” 

Arthur felt his eyes widen. He’d heard about the coyotes. Ever since attacks had started getting more serious, enforcement had started cracking down on who entered and left the city. Coyotes worked to get people in and out through the holes in the network. He’d also heard about people going missing on coyote routes. Wayne must have caught the look on his face because he quickly rushed to explain. “Don’t worry, mate. We’re the good ones. Nobody goes missing on our routes. C’mon! I’ll show you what we do here.” Turning, he started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jenny followed him, and Arthur went with a push to the back from Morgan, Val taking up the rear after calling a blond, good looking man who reminded Arthur of Leon to come take over guard duty. Together the five ascended up to the second floor, and Arthur was led down a bedroom lined hall to the very end, where someone had jokingly painted  _ The Doctor is In _ on the wood paneling of another bedroom door. Unlike the others, this was a worn brown that seemed at complete odds with the bright, cheery white of the rest of the hall, and it was slightly ajar, soft golden light spilling out and mumbled voices nearly inaudible over the noise beneath them. 

Wayne turned to the rest of them, pressing a finger to his lips before pushing the door open and leading them in. The room was spacious, likely having once been the master bedroom, but more resembled an infirmary of sorts. Actually, Arthur realized the more he looked around, it almost resembled Gaius’s chambers back in Camelot. The wall directly opposite them held a large window, curtains as red as the flag outside pulled back to let in the moonlight. The wall to his left held two doors, one open and showing a pristine white bathroom, the other cracked open and Arthur assumed it was likely a walk-in closet, though it was too dark for him to see anything inside. A cot was set up against the window wall, and adjacent it was a comfortable looking couch and several armchairs. More cots were leaned against the far wall. 

There were people in the room, all looking rather worn and haggard, some in very obvious states of illness, others looking on with eyes unfocused and empty. A young woman seated in an armchair had a bundled infant in her arms, her face gaunt and pale, head wrapped in a scarf, and Arthur immediately recognized her as a chemotherapy patient. Her face was damp, but her chin was firm as she gazed down at her infant, and Arthur felt a pang in his chest. An older couple sat close together on the couch, the wife leaning heavily against her husband, a clear tube running under her nose and connecting to an oxygen tank between their feet. On the other side of them, watching the newcomers curiously, was a girl who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, skin and eyes tinged yellow as she studied them, as though she was trying to figure out what they were doing there. Apparently forming a conclusion, she pointedly turned her attention to the window, or more distinctly, the two people sitting under it. 

A bald black man sat on the cot, each breath rattling in his lungs like he’d swallowed glass. He was gaunt, though not to the same extreme as the young woman with the baby, leaning back against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. His eyes were clear, if bloodshot, focused on a young man maybe a few years younger than Arthur. He was pale and skinny, shaggy black hair blending into the night sky behind him as he spoke softly to the man on the cot. He wore a stretched out black shirt and a pair of worn skinny jeans, feet covered in a pair of scuffed combat boots. He was mostly turned away from Arthur and the others, though the blond made no assumptions that he didn’t know they were there. As the clouds outside the window shifted, moonlight spilling through the panes, turning the crown of the dark haired man’s head white, and highlighting silvery scars that snaked down his slender neck and up his arms, disappearing behind the lines of his black attire.  _ No way this guy isn’t one of us, _ Arthur thought, straining his ears to try and catch what was being said. 

“You’re here, so you are aware of your options.” It wasn’t really a question, but the man on the cot nodded, chest shaking with his next labored breath. “I can turn you, or we can escort you to the dying room and you can pass on in peace. Your brain and corresponding memories will then be donated to our cause, any viable organs taken to the nearest hospital for those on transplant lists. Whichever path you choose, it can be assured that your soul will live on. It is not a decision to be made lightly, though. Eternity may seem a treat to a dying man, but it may turn into a curse in the long run.” The dark haired man’s voice was soft but powerful, tinged with a sadness Arthur only ever heard in his own voice when it hit him just how lost he really was. 

The man on the cot was silent for a long moment, each breath coming harder and harder. He clearly didn’t have much longer, and it made Arthur wonder just how far he’d come to be right there. Finally, he spoke, voice hoarse and barely audible. “I’ll be able to breathe again?” he asked, cutting himself off with a cough so harsh Arthur’s throat ached in sympathy. “I’ll be able to run? To play ball with my kids again?” The dark haired man nodded, crouching and taking the dying man’s arm, evidently knowing just what decision the man had come to even before he voiced it. “You will no longer bear the chains that tie your lungs. Elijah Smith, I welcome you to our clan.” With those words, the man ran a nail down the underside of the dying man’s arm, opening a long gash that immediately healed itself. Elijah tilted his head back, mouth gaping as he took a deep, clear breath, toothy smile splitting his face in half as he took another, and another. “Thank you, Emrys,” he said, voice a clear, smooth baritone. 

_ Emrys, _ Arthur thought, studying the back of the man. At last he had a form to put with the name.  _ Not much to look at, _ he thought idly,  _ much like his house.  _ Emrys held out a hand, pulling the newly minted zombie to his feet and gesturing toward the door, turning as he did so until Arthur could see his face. The blond felt the air catch in his lungs. The man had a narrow face and ears that stuck out from the sides of his head, bright blue eyes ringed with dark lashes so thick it looked like he was wearing makeup. “ _ Holy shit, _ ” he breathed, eyes roaming over the skinny frame with a renewed fervor.  _ Merlin…  _ He couldn’t believe it. Out of all the doppelgangers he’d come across, strangers who wore the faces of old friends, he’d finally come across what was probably the most painful of them all. 

Emrys’ eyes passed over them with mild curiosity, showing nothing. No recognition, no emotion. “Val will take you downstairs, Elijah. He’ll get you something to eat and explain the laws to you. I will find you later and we will talk about reuniting you with your family.” Elijah nodded, still grinning widely as he followed the larger man out the room, the door closing behind them with a soft click. Emrys’ eyes drifted over the remaining four of them once more, seeming to hold a little longer on Arthur before moving on, turning to the young mother. “Jessica? Are you ready?” The mother nodded, smothering a soft hiccup before rising to her feet, wobbling just slightly until Emrys steadied her with a hand under her elbow. He led her to the cot, Jenny pulling away from their little makeshift audience to join them, laying a comforting hand on the other woman’s trembling shoulder. 

“Jessica, you’re sure about this?” Emrys asked, voice low as he crouched in front of her. Jessica nodded, tears streaming down her face in earnest, yet her chin remained firm, eyes locked on the sleeping bundle in her arms. “Yes. I--I need to be there for him. There’s no one else.” Emrys nodded, the line of his shoulders tense under the fabric of his shirt. “Jenny,” he said softly, and Jenny carefully took the infant from Jessica, cradling him close to her chest while Emrys took the trembling woman’s arm in a repeat of what they’d just witnessed him do with Elijah. Just as with him, the effect was instantaneous. The trembles slowed, and Jessica took a deep breath, wet smile curling at her lips as she fell forward, wrapping her arms around Emrys’ neck in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she murmured over and over, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning and accepting her son back from Jenny and clutching him to her chest. 

The three remaining people went much the same as Elijah and Jessica. Emrys gave a gentle nick to the elderly woman’s papery wrist and removed the nasal cannula and oxygen tank before instructing the wife on how to do the same to her husband. Watching the two decide that they were going to spend the rest of eternity with one another had warmth pooling in Arthur’s chest. The teenager made him sad. Eighteen and dying of HIV, all because her boyfriend had lied to her. She’d commented that once she was better, she wanted to hunt him down and thank him  _ personally  _ for everything he’d done, but the way she’d smiled while saying it had Arthur a little worried. Val had returned at some point, slipping through the door behind them and taking back up his post against the frame, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched his boss create zombies. 

Finally, they were alone in the room. Emrys took a seat on the cot, leaning back against the wall and studying them for a long moment. “How’s it look down there, Percy?” he finally asked, addressing the hulking figure still leaning against the door. Arthur felt like someone had just doused him in ice water.  _ What had he just called Val?  _ Before he could say anything, though, the bigger man was speaking. “Leon’s got everything under control. He has Gaius explaining the rules to Elijah, Jessica, and the others. I have him keeping an extra close eye on Liz. We don’t need her running off and getting caught making good on her promise.”

Emrys nodded, closing his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again he looked different; younger. Something mischievous was glinting in their icy depths. “Gwen, Morgana, are all the new rooms set up?” The girls nodded, matching smiles on their faces. “Everything is all set up,  _ sir. _ ” The title was said mockingly, but in a way that made Arthur think it was some kind of an inside joke among them. Arthur’s mind was spinning, trying to fit pieces together until they finally stuck. He slowly turned to look at the four he’d come up with. Each one wore a matching grin, eyes glinting with held back secrets. Completing the turn, Arthur’s stare came back to land on Emrys. The man was sprawled casually on the cot, for all the world a picture of nonchalance, but Arthur was beginning to see through it. It was all starting to make sense; the easy familiarity they all seemed to have, the similarities between them and his memories, even the names, now that he was thinking about it. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” he asked, voice hoarser than he meant it to be. Emrys’ smile widened and he motioned to the couch and chairs. “Have a seat, Arthur.” Arthur didn’t move, feet feeling as though they were rooted to the carpet, eyes unable to look away from the enigmatic dark haired man. He felt the others shift around him, moving to take their own seats. Gwen and Morgana folded themselves into one side of the couch while Gwaine took the other, Percy offering him a slap to the shoulder before taking one of the chairs, leaving the other open for Arthur. “Emrys--Merlin--who _ ever  _ the fuck you are, what’s going on?” Arthur’s voice sounded lost, even to his own ears. He’d spent nearly two years thinking he was completely alone in this new world, only to move and find people who at least looked like those he’d left behind, but now he was being sent for a loop all over again. 

He let his eyes stray to the others. Morgana and Gwen were looking at him with twin expressions of sympathy, and Gwaine looked like he’d just managed to pull off the biggest joke of all time. Percy wore his usual stoic expression, but Arthur could swear there was a bit of sympathy in his eyes. “Who are you?” Arthur finally managed, “Any of you?”

Emrys rose to his feet and came close. If Arthur had wanted to he could have reached out and touched the younger man. “We’re your friends, you prat. Always have been, always will be.” The familiar jab loosened something inside his chest and he felt himself sag a little, not realizing how rigid he’d been holding his body. “But how? I’m still not even sure how  _ I  _ got here.” Emrys smiled, taking his hand and pulling him over to the others, his touch sending electricity up Arthur’s arm and drawing a shiver down his spine. He found himself being pushed into the empty seat, the dark haired man perching himself on the armrest of the couch. “You’re familiar with the idea of reincarnation, it was really big among some of the kingdoms and the druid clans back in our day. Anyway, that’s what all of you are. Reincarnations of your former selves. And since this century has decided to also give us zombies, it is rather unlikely there will be any more reincarnations after this.” 

It was all said so casually that Arthur almost laughed. “So you are all really here? But what was with the names? Jenny, Gwen? Really?” That brought a round of chuckles among the group and a delicate flush to the woman’s dark cheeks. It was Morgana who answered for them all this time. “Safety mostly. None of us could be sure that you’d know who we were, so we took on pseudonyms. Plus, it saved on the funny looks we get from having medieval names.” Arthur nodded in understanding before turning back to Emrys. “So what about you? Is it Emrys? Or Merlin?” The dark haired man who’d at one point been his manservant and best friend just grinned, cheeky and oh so familiar that it settled something inside Arthur’s brain that had been rattling around since he’d first woken up on that beach nearly two years ago. “Well, the Druids called me Emrys, as does anyone outside our group, but what you call me is completely up to you,  _ sire. _ ” 

Arthur smiled. “Very well,  _ Mer _ lin. But answer me this. Are we  _ all  _ zombies now?” Merlin’s grin was wide. “Yes, and no. The five of you, Leon and Gaius downstairs, and Elyan are.” 

“But what about you?” Arthur was confused. If they were all reincarnations, and evidently the last round provided none of them get offed unexpectedly, then why was Merlin not including himself? The man in question was smiling again. It was one Arthur recognized from every time he told him he was a useless secretkeeper. “I am not a zombie,” was all he said, eyes glinting. “I’m immune to the virus. I’m not a reincarnation either.”

“Then what are you?!” Arthur practically growled, tired of the charades he’d been put through. He was fed up and losing patience fast. Merlin’s smile only grew, but before Arthur could say anything, his eyes flashed gold and a floating, glowing orb appeared just above his outstretched hand. “I’m a Warlock, Arthur. I’m immortal. I’ve waited a long time for all of you to come back, and you cannot begin to imagine how grateful I am that I’m not going to have to watch you all die all over again.” All the light in the room seemed to dim, focusing in on the glowing orb in the warlock’s hand.  _ Warlock…  _ Arthur thought, realizing how many things made sense in light of the new information. “I can’t believe it,” he said, voice awed. “I can’t believe the great bumbling idiot of Camelot managed to keep that a secret all this time!” 

Everyone went silent, the orb fading into nonexistence and leaving them in the dim light. Arthur worried for a minute that he’d said the wrong thing.  _ Antagonize the warlock. Brilliant idea. _ But he was saved from his thoughts when the man in question broke down in a fit of laughter, having to brace himself against the back of the couch before he fell off. The guffaws broke the tension that had settled over them, and pretty soon they were all laughing, atmosphere lightening considerably until for the first time in a long time, Arthur felt at home. All the important people in his life were right where they belonged, and no one was going anywhere. With them at his side, he knew he could face anything the world threw his way. 

~END~

  
  



End file.
